


Coda

by FixaIdea



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Reincarnation, that's it that's the fic, the writer needed some closure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 16:19:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14877195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixaIdea/pseuds/FixaIdea
Summary: Name one hero who was happy.You can't.Not at the first try, anyway.





	Coda

I was finally free. For the moment anyway. I have just finished my PHD and even landed a job offer! It might have been an ordinary feat, pulled off by millions of people before, but to me (especially the job, in this economy) it felt like a victory worthy of any ancient _héros_.

I decided to reward myself by travelling the country for a couple of months. I avoided Athens and the more obvious tourist traps and headed, on a whim, to Thessaly. I had no set plan. I set up shop in a small seaside hotel and went to find a calm spot on the beach. Easier said than done, being summer – but by some miracle I found a tiny gulf with white sand, mercifully devoid of people.

After cooling down in the dark sea I dropped my towel down and stretched out to sun myself. I was beginning to nod off when a shadow was suddenly cast across my face. I lazily blinked my eyes open – only to see a woman towering over me.

I bolted upright – did I stumble on private property? She was looking at me in silence, with a slightly displeased, but somehow curious look.

Something was off about her. I opened my mouth, but she spoke over me.

‘They still remember him.’

I stared up at her, gape-mouthed. She was very tall – almost too tall. Her black hair hung down in long waves around a face too pale for a living person.  The only spot of colour on her were her lips – my rational mind suggested an overly generous use of makeup, but somehow, I knew better. I was certain she had mistaken me for someone, but she went on before I could say so.

‘Over three thousand years and they still remember him! They tell of his life, his deeds, they say his name! In books and plays and celluloid strips they still sing his name! And’ – she cocked her head to the side – ‘Yours. I did not expect that.’

I had no idea who she thought I was. I do not know her, but, again, she cut me off before I could tell her so.

‘For the longest time I had no idea what strings I was even supposed to pull. And when I worked that out it took centuries still to convince all who needed convincing, beg all who needed begging. Use this time well. There will be no great deeds, no war, no cruel Fates and prophecies. You shall have a long and happy life, but and ordinary one. Just him and you.’

I must have looked as stupid as I felt because a hint of amusement flitted across her impassive face.

‘You do not understand. You will, soon.’

With that she turned and started to walk away – only to stop after a few paces and turn back, addressing me over her shoulder.

‘Do not think, for a moment, that I did this for you. It was all for him. I want him to know happiness, but it seems, for him, that has to include you. There is no accounting for taste.’

And then she was gone.

I spent a long time after that, just sitting where she left me in the sand, blinking slowly like a confused toad. Finally, I shrugged and got up. What a strange lady.

It took me the better part of two days to get over this weird encounter. I halfway convinced myself that it was the product of the harsh sun and the previous day’s celebratory drinks anyway. I took the bus and headed North.

Hiking has been part of the programme all along and, musing over the map, I decided to start by climbing mount Pelion. Mostly by the logic of ‘why ever not?’.

As I set out, my bones buzz with a strange sense of anticipation that – as far as I can tell – has nothing to do with the scenery, beautiful as it is. I walk up a narrow, twisting path. I take on sharp turn after sharp turn, thick vegetation obscuring my view.

I’m lost in my thoughts, that is why I don’t hear his footsteps – a man rushing down the path, heading right towards me. I notice him too late, as he suddenly emerges from behind a turn, the collision is inevitable.

He dances back, hands raised in apology, blond hair falling into is face. I raise my hands too, ready to reassure him that I am quite all right – and then our eyes lock.

I know him.

I have always known him.

I would recognise him anywhere, I would know him in death.

It’s him.

Before I know I am swept up in his embrace, safe and loved and finally at home. He is crying as hard as I am, I can tell, the breast against mine hitches and shakes with his sobs. He cards his fingers through my hair, rocking me gently from side to side, whispering a name over and over again – a name half-forgotten, but one that rings truer, feels more honestly mine than the one on my ID card ever did.

‘ _Patroclus, Patroclus, my Patroclus_.’

***

Later, cuddled up in bed, with his head pillowed on my chest, we tell each other of our new lives. I tell him about my bumbling attempts at dating, I tell him about my medical degree. I tell him this, and this and this. I tell him about my encounter with Thetis.

He’s silent for a beat, then he huffs and laughs.

‘Well, I achieved everything a man can by pain and glory. What more fame could I ask for? I am quite ready to find out what an ordinary life looks like.’

I laugh with him and I cradle him close.

We will be just fine.

This time, we will.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write in first person, but that's the style of the book, so I thought I'd try.  
> ...Yeah there's a tense change, but as Miller does it too, I figured it was a sylistic choice that comes with the territory.


End file.
